


The Culling

by Oh_Contrary



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied Human Sacrifice, Langst, Sadness, the looming spectre of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Contrary/pseuds/Oh_Contrary
Summary: ‘A good meal can send a heart on its way to mending,’ his mother always said as she added veggies and spices without measuring. Lance knew the recipe, but her freehand way of making it was irreplicable.He couldn’t help a small smile. It would be a fitting last meal.





	The Culling

**Author's Note:**

> Shows up late with the Starbucks that made me Late
> 
> Hey guys.
> 
> This is just the saddest thing I've ever written and i apologize. Like. Isn't even angst, just straight up Sad. lemme know what you think.
> 
> As always, let me know if there are any trigger/content warnings I need to add.
> 
> Sadness ahead. Tread careful loves.
> 
> love y muchos besos  
> ~Tay

When his name was called, his mother screamed. In a way, he supposed it was lucky. Just two night ago, Veronica had told him how she and the girl at the bookseller’s cart had been meeting by the river. They’d been sending soft eyes to one another for so long that Lance was hardly surprised, but already she was musing about marriage. It was a small village and Veronica was two years past her coming of age. It had to happen sooner or later. Lance had come of age just two weeks ago.

Right in time to spare her, to give her the future he’d just lost.

Around him, his family was clamoring. His oldest brother was shouting. He’d tucked Lance behind him as if to hide the other boy from the mage’s eyes, but it was useless. The mage had called their family’s name. It was law, as it had been for so many years, that the youngest child of age would be taken from whichever family that was selected and sent to the castle for the feral prince.

And they had called his family’s name.

Everything stopped. Lance could barely process the magnitude of the events around him. His mother’s arms were tight and desperate around him, and he could feel his family— his beloved family— all grasping at him as if to hold him in place but he knew it was no use. His eyes filled with tears.

“That— that’s me,” Lance croaked. He looked down at the twins, only nine, and clutching desperately at his breeches. “I—” his voice broke. “—I have to go. It’s the law—”

“You have the night.” Veronica said firmly, her grip on his arm tight despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. “It’s the rules, they won’t take you til first light. There’s— there’s still time.”

Lance nodded, though he knew it was borrowed time. This was his fate and there was no escaping it. The second year, the girl chosen had tried to run. She was never heard from again. They took her older sister instead.

“You will report to the village square at first light wearing holy whites,” the mage said. He processed out with his guards, leaving the village square silent. With him gone, Marco relaxed slightly, only his shoulders remaining tense. Finally, he turned around, looking Lance in the eye for a sad, brief moment before sniffling and letting out a long exhale.

“We should head home,” he said, bending and scooping up Luis and passing him to Veronica, taking Lucia in his own arms. Their mother wrapped an arm around Lance’s waist and they walked together down the cobblestone path to their house on the edge of town.

When they arrived, their neighbors were already gathered. Lance’s eyes found Hunk’s immediately and he ran to his friend’s arms. In his periphery, he saw their moms embrace. Hunk trembled against him, not even attempting to hide his tears. Lance sobbed, hiding his face in the corner of Hunk’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t you apologize,” Hunk practically laughed. “This isn’t even close to your fault, Lance.”

“I know, but still—”

“But nothing,” Hunk said, holding him tighter. They stayed like that as the evening cooled around them.

“I’m going to miss you,” Lance whispered finally.

“You’re going to come back to me,” Hunk said.

“Hunk—”

“People have survived. People have come back—”

“And wished they hadn’t, Hunk.”

“In a year, there’ll be another culling and someone will come to take you place. You’re strong, Lance. You’re going to survive.”

“What if I don’t? What he kills me—” Hunk shook him.

”Don’t say that,” he snapped. “If anyone can survive the mountain castle, it’s you.”

Lance choked out a sad laugh. “You’ve always had so much faith in me.” He sobbed. Hunk pulled him into another tight hug.

“You’ve always deserved it.” Hunk said,

If possible, Lance’s heart broke a bit more in his chest. They had been side by side through everything. Already they had planned to stay together. They loved each other. Maybe not how most couples did, but there was something there. Their mothers had always joked they may be in-laws someday. A while back, even he and Hunk had started to joke about it. Had started to believe it. Of course, he knew it would never work. He and Hunk were more like brothers than lovers. Nevertheless, tonight, his mind whirled with fantasies of him and Hunk together and safe. Of opening that bakery Hunk always wanted, Hunk making the bread and Lance doing the numbers.

Before his mind could wander too far, he heard a throat clear behind them. They tugged away enough to look and saw Marco standing in the light of the doorway.

“Dinner is almost ready. People are arriving with gifts as well. We won’t be able to eat all this without you two,” Marco said, a sad smile curving his lips.

Lance nodded. Already he could smell the gifts of sweet meats and soft breads arriving. Villagers always prepared something for the family chosen. His mother had prepared a dish as well, though never expected she’d be serving it in her own house. Inside there was a pot of rich stew with summer vegetables. It was one of his favorite foods. It had been his grandmother’s recipe.

‘A good meal can send a heart on its way to mending,’ his mother always said as she added veggies and spices without measuring. Lance knew the recipe, but her freehand way of making it was irreplicable.

He couldn’t help a small smile. It would be a fitting last meal.

Around the dinner table, there was silence save for the clatter of forks and spoons in bowls. Lance sat sandwiched between Hunk and Veronica. His mother was at the head of the table, ever the pillar of strength. Lance ate one handed, the other firmly gripping one of Hunk’s beneath the table, fingers tangled on his leg.

He thought briefly about what they could have been. Veronica always joked that they could be a perfect match if they let themselves. Now they would never know.

Lance looked to his left and found Hunk looking at him. His eyes were sad but filled with softness. Lance could practically hear the echo, the remorse. Hunk looked away, hand squeezing Lance’s as he looked down into his food.

“We should have gotten married,” he said finally.

“Hunk—"

“You were joking at summer fest, but if we actually had, they couldn’t take you. I could have saved you—”

“And then what? Have Veronica go in my stead? No, this is the best way this could have happened.”

“Don’t say that,” Veronica snapped. “I would go for you in a heartbeat.”

“No one should have to go,” Marco growled, slamming a fist on the table. “The Culling is wrong. The crown can’t treat us like cattle—”

“If they don’t then invaders will,” Lance said. “Better we lose one than all, and if I have to be the one then I will! Better me than Veronica or Rizavi or Hunk or anyone else of age.” Silence fell in the room. Lance looked around and realized that, at some point, he had stood. He shrunk back, air rushing out of him like from a balloon. “So can we… Can we just have a good night?”

And so they did. They feasted on stew and the gifts the village had brought. They played games at the table, and Lance finally showed the twins how to get to his spot on the roof. They watched the stars until the night grew too cold and it was time to go inside. They went in and lit a fire, gathering under blankets and huddling together, passing around cups of warm mead and cider and sharing stories.

Despite his age and his height, Jimena took her son into her lap, gathering his long legs into the plush chair that had been her late husband’s. She began to sing, low at first, a gentle croon into his hair. Lance hummed along, the lullaby as familiar as it was haunting. It was in the old tongue, the language their family had spoken before coming to the valley two generations ago. It was their legacy. The song built gently, his mother’s voice coming stronger and louder despite the obvious emotion choking her voice. Around him, the others joined in, Veronica and Marco scooting close to the chair and reaching for Lance as they added their voices to the mix. The twins huddled in too, leaning sleepily into Marco’s chest as the song continued, verse after verse as Jimena, in a rare occurrence, sang the ballad in its entirety.

By the end of the song, they were all weeping, Lance pressing his face into his mother’s chest as if trying to burrow into her. Her arms were tight around him and she murmured to him in the old tongue, little whispers of affection strengthened all the more by their smooth and ancient flow off her tongue. She pressed kisses against Lance’s hair, trying to calm his fears in spite of the terror in her own heart.

“No matter what happens,” she whispered, “No one has loved you like I do. You will always live in my heart, mijo. And when you leave you’ll take a piece of it with you. It’s yours forever.”

“Mamá—”

“Forever, mijo. Te amo mucho. Mi amor para ti es eterno.” She wept openly now, and he sat up to look at his mother’s face, trying to memorize every smile line and sun spot. She smiled through her tears, cupping his face in her hands, warm and calloused. “I’m so proud of everything you are, Lance. I always will be.”

She pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead then hugged him back to her chest, pressing his ear to her heart.

Its steady beat lulled him to sleep.

A few hours later, she woke him. Somewhere in the night, he had ended up in a pile on the floor all but smothered by his siblings and Hunk.

“There’s only a few hours 'til dawn, love,” she croaked, voice raw from crying and eyes puffy and red. “We have to get you ready. The priestess will be here soon.” Lance bit his lip and looked down, but nodded.

“Come with me?” he asked quietly. She nodded gently. He detangled himself from the pile, moving with achy limbs across the room and stepping over the others as he and his mother went to the small bathroom. The little tub was already filled with hot water and the gentle yet familiar fragrance of his favorite bath oil rose with the steam. His mother left to grab towels and he stripped and slid into the tub. When she returned, he was silently crying.

“Mamá, what do I do?” he whispered. She sat on the ground beside the tub, looking at her son’s drawn face. She dipped a washcloth in the warm water before bringing it up to wipe at his puffy eyes.

“You survive.”

When Lance came out of the bathroom, he was clean, wrapped in a soft blanket. In the living room, the others were awake. He went back to the chair and both of the twins crawled into his lap, nuzzling sleepily against his chest. Hunk rose from the floor, coming to press a kiss to Lance’s forehead.

“I’ll be back when the priestess comes. We have… we’ve prepared blessings at our house and I want to bring them for you. My mother will want to come too.”

“Go,” Lance said. “I’ll be here.”

The early hour passed quietly. They reheated bread and meat, and his mother puttered about the small house, preparing for visitors. Lance sat quietly, eating his breakfast though the food went down like ash, and trying to pay attention to his siblings. Nevertheless, dread pooled cold and heavy in his gut; only solidifying when there was a knock on the door

Marco went and opened it warily, lip trembling when he saw the priestess, a bundle of white linen in her arms. Wearily, he welcomed her.

She looked at Lance with a practiced lack of emotion. Every year she’d done this, all but packaging up young ones and sending them off to the castle. It was weary, miserable work, but this time was different.

Lance slid the twins out of his lap and set them gently on the ground, rising to meet her in the center of the room. He was silent throughout, simply moving as he was told and letting her direct him as she wrapped him gently in the linens, forming the familiar patterns of Holy whites. When she finished, he thanked her quietly. The simple act of it was odd, so unlike previous versions of this day. He didn’t cry, they hadn't tried to bar her from entering. There was acceptance, and, somewhere behind it, determination.

When they were done however, he sunk wearily back into his chair, looking in something akin to horror at the gauzy white material draping over his legs.

Lance doesn't know how much time he lost crying into the linens wrapped around him, but soon Marco was tugging him from Veronica’s arms.

“People are arriving with blessings, Lance. It’s good luck to accept them and Mamá would like you to,” Marco said, though his tone of voice said he would like it too. That everyone wanted him to accept all the luck and prayers they had in the off chance it would carry him through the year.

As the sun began to rise, he was sat in a chair and received a steady stream of visitors who brought berries and flowers and incense, all of them with blessings whispered into the petals and leaves. They were added one by one to a woven crown and placed on his head. Excess flowers were woven into anklets and some were tucked into the folds of his toga. The priestess stood by, checking every gift and sprinkling Lance with holy water every few people.

Soon, Hunk and his mother came through. She anointed him with a light, fragrant oil and kissed his cheeks, whispering words of affection into his ears. Hunk was next. Alongside a gift of herb leaves, he also gave a simple silver chain. Lance recognized it immediately as a recent project from the forge where Hunk had been apprenticing. It was thin and light, settling like air around his neck.

“Hunk,” Lance whispered, voice raw from crying. “I can't accept this—"

“You have to,” Hunk said. “It's my blessing, Lance. I give it freely.” Lance's eyes welled with tears and he nodded. They embraced, their hold tight and desperate. Lance kissed Hunk on the cheek as he drew back.

“You will always be my best friend,” he said. “And one of the most important people in my life. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Lance.” Hunk said, lip trembling. “And I'm sorry—"

“Nope. This is no one’s fault but the crown’s.”

“But I could have—"

“You deserve a true match, Hunk.” Lance said, shaking his head sadly. “I wouldn't be one for you. We both know that.” There was a quiet pause, filled only by breathing and the birds of early morning.

“I do love you, Lance.” Hunk said.

“I know,” Lance said, tears finally starting down his face. They hugged again, Hunk kissing Lance's forehead as he pulled back.

“Til I see you again,” he said.

Lance couldn't respond.

Next came his siblings. The twins were crying openly, nearly inconsolable as Lance took them into his arms. They begged him not to go and, broken hearted, he explained that he had to, but that he loved them very much and was sorry he couldn't see them grow.

They both had gifts. Luis gave him a small wooden charm he had whittled, a clumsy rendering of a star hanging from a simple strip of leather. Lance cried, remembering easily the frustrating week he had spent carving it.

Lucia gave him a blue scarf she had helped weave with their mother. Her spots were obvious: the knots less consistent and the yarn a bit more frayed, but he loved it all the more for that; for the ability to look stitch by stitch and find them so perfectly intertwined.

Next came Veronica. She hugged him tight, short nails scratching up into his curls.

“You’ve let it get long,” she whispered. Lance chuckled at the seemingly ill-timed criticism.

“I’ll cut it for the next time I see you,” he said. She hugged him tighter, her own shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

“You don’t deserve this, Lance,” she said, hiding her her face in the crook of his neck.

“No one does,“ he said. “But we knew that.” She drew back, looking him over. She stroked the side of his face, running a thumb through the tear tracks on his cheek.

“You’re too good for this,” she said again, taking his hand. “In your heart, you’re too pure for whatever’s in the mountain castle. And that—” a sad chuckle “—that may just be what brings you back.”

“Vera—” but she cut him off with a look. They locked eyes.

“Come back to us Lance.” She ordered. He could only nod. Satisfied, she looked down at their entwined hands, separating them momentarily. In a smooth movement, she slid her ring—the silver military ring their father had left her—off of her hand and onto his, sliding it onto the middle finger on his left hand. He looked down at the ring, eyes welling with tears as he remembered days at their father’s feet listening to stories about his time in the cavalry. Or, once he’d passed, them laying on the floor, pulling the ring off the necklace Mamá had made for Veronica and slipping it on and off their fingers; doing that time and time again until suddenly time passed and they found that it fit.

“I want you to have it,” she said, pre-empting his refusal. “Papá would too. You’re a fighter like he was. Don’t forget it.”

Lance clenched his jaw, trying not to cry but failing. He simply nodded, pulling Veronica back for a tight hug. They clutched at each other, desperation slipping into their grips as the sun crept closer and closer to the horizon.

Next came Marco, who knelt before Lance and took his hands.

“I’m going to take care of them,” Marco promised. Lance nodded, squeezing his brother’s hands tight.

“You have to help them through this,” Lance said. “Don’t hide in your sadness like when Papá went. We were young then, but now you need to be there for them. Don’t— don't  let Mamá do it all by herself. You’re so much stronger than you know, Marco. You have to lend that to others.”

Marco sniffed, leaning his head against Lance’s knees, tears dripping into the wrap of the toga. Lance chuckled, petting the hair at the back of his head.

“C’mon soldier,” he said gently. “I’m counting on you.” Marco looked up at him.

“I won’t let you down,” Marco promised. “I’ll made you proud and—and when you come back to us you’ll see it.”

“Marco—”

“You have to Lance. I can be strong for a year but—”

“Marco,” Lance hissed. He reached out, drawing his brother forward by the back of the neck, pressing their heads together. “Marco, if anyone has to be realistic right now, it’s you,” Lance said quietly. “Only one person has ever come back from the culling and—and she doesn’t have a life I would want. I’m not going to come back only to… to live like that.” Marco was quietly crying now, sad understanding clear in his face despite his closed eyes.

Lance wiped his tears, drawing his brother into a crushing hug. They held each other tight, rocking through the last of Marco’s tears. When his breathing settled, Lance went to pull away, but was stopped by a firm hand on his back.

“Don’t open this all the way,” he said quietly.

“Marco?”

But before Lance could question, his brother had pulled back, picking up his gift of the ground. He handed over a thick book, its worn leather cover and the straps holding it closed achingly familiar. It was a book of old military codes and routes. They had spent hours upon hours making up stories along the routes marked on the worn maps.

With shaking hands, Lance accepted it, barely hiding his reaction as he felt something inside shift. He took the book into his lap and looked up at Marco who gave him a small nod.

“This is my blessing to you,” he said plainly. He hugged Lance again. “Protect yourself,” he whispered. Lance nodded, closing his eyes against the tightness in his throat. “I trust you more than anyone, Lance. And I’ll miss you more too.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Lance managed. “So much, Marco. You’re the best big brother I could have asked for—”

“You wouldn’t let me be anything else, Lance. You bring out the best in us.” Lance huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

“You’re the best already,” he said, smile slipping away. He scrubbed at his eyes and Marco hugged him tight. “I love you all so much. Don’t ever forget, okay? I need—I need you all to know how much I love you. Tell them for me. Love them for me. Promise—”

“I promise Lance. I swear on my life.”

“Mean it. Swear by mine.”

Marco went silent, but nodded, drawing slowly back to look Lance in the eye.

“I swear on your life. They’ll know how much you love them. They return it tenfold, Lance. We—” he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “We love you more than you know, Lance.”

Marco took Lance’s face in his hands and kissed his left temple, his forehead, his right temple.

“Thank you, Marco.” Lance whispered.

Last came their mother. Jimena. She stepped forward and sunk gracefully to the ground in front of her son. Though her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her demeanor showed nothing but strength. When she spoke, her voice was soft but steady.

“Do you remember, when you were just a peck, you came into me and your father’s room at night and asked ‘what goes on when my eyes are closed?’” She chuckled, and Lance couldn’t help laughing. He remembered. That night had been so loud, full of the sounds of the woods behind the house and the road in front of it. He’d been convinced that there was a universe he was missing when his eyes closed and it slipped away whenever he opened them.

“I remember,” he said. “Papá pulled me up and said ‘ganso, that’s just the moon, singing to try and keep you asleep.'”

“And what did you ask next?” Jimena asked, eyes sparkling in the ever-brightening morning light.

“I asked ‘how does she pick what to sing?’” Lance said, voice cracking as the tears restarted.

“Y Papá?” Jimena said, “Qué dijo?” Lance wiped his eyes, shaking his head. “Cuéntame, mijo. Come now, the sun is rising and we don’t have much time.”

“He said that his parents, and your parents, and all his friends from the war were making requests. And—and one day—” Lance broke, sobbing openly, he slid out of the chair into Jimena’s lap, clutching at her. She held him to her chest and pressed kisses into his hair.

“And one day, when we are gone, we’ll send moonsongs too," she finished. "Your Papá is watching over you, mijo. And—" Jimena pulled Lance away from her chest, holding his face so he looked her in the eye “—and you’re about to have a lot of long, hard nights, mijo. But don’t you look back. Don’t look back, nene.” Her voice broke then and tears slid down her cheeks, but she soldiered on. “Never look back, Lance. Look to the moon and know I hear her too. Can you do that for me?” Lance’s eyes closed and he gripped his mother’s wrists as if to hold them together. “Lance, promise me—”

“I promise, Mamá. I won’t—” he broke down crying.

“Don’t look back; look up. Remember that.”

Hooves sounded on the road behind them and Jimena let go, sliding a small bag off her shoulder and over Lance’s. She picked up the book Marco had given him and slid it in, fastening it and pulling him up.

“Mamá I love you. I love you so much—”

She pulled him into a crushing hug, weeping as she felt the sun begin to warm her back. She pressed kisses all over his face.

“I love you too. So much, Lance. More than I could ever show.” She picked up a bundle of pink carnations, tucking one into the front of his robes, another into the crown about his head, and the last into the woven strap of the bag she’d given him.

Lance knew that, if he looked into the bright morning, he’d find a representative from the court waiting with the horse that would take him to the town square; but he couldn’t pull his eyes from his mother’s tear streaked face, wishing with all his might that he could stay in this moment forever.

Instead, the priestess came around, gently laying a hand on both their shoulders and whispering ‘it’s time.’

Jimena helped Lance off the ground, gently raising his bowed head, making him stand tall. She too raised her chin and together they walked, slowly, somberly, to the horse.

They hugged one last time.

“Don’t look back,” she whispered.

“Look up,” Lance replied.

Content, she let go, hands falling to squeeze his as the guards stepped forwards. Her son was lifted up onto the white steed and his hands slid out of hers. She stepped back and into the arms of her eldest child, Marco holding tight to her and the others as they looked up at Lance, bedecked in white and flowers.

Lance opened his mouth as if to speak, but Jimena shook her head. She tilted her chin up, instructing Lance to do the same.

He bit his lip to keep it from trembling, but complied, looking forwards into the risen sun. The horse began to move, carrying him into the first light of day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Should there be more? I kinda want more but idk what it'd be. 
> 
> Visit me on [tumblr](https://profoundprincessface.tumblr.com/) to tell me how much you cried or leave me a comment!!
> 
> xoxo  
> ~Tay


End file.
